My Author

I needed
this pain
to stir
these words
to life.
Destiny forced
an overwhelming
absence
so that I
could find
this voice,
this enigma
of broken lines,
this beauty.
I say
you are
my muse
but that’s
not really it.
This agony
is my inspiration.
This missing
inks my pen
in the blood
pouring from
my wounds.
So what
does that say
about me?
That I only write
of longing and pain?
That I find
beauty
in the darkness
of loss?
But it’s
not so much
finding it
as creating it.
This hunger
lined with
burning trees,
these sentries
of ash
and flame,
they write
these aching words.
Not me
or you.
This torture,
alone,
is my author.

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4 thoughts on “My Author

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